


Best of Spies and Best of Women

by landy67



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: American Revolution, F/M, Period-Typical Sexism, War, as a treat, but some womens rights, who doesnt like a lil espionage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landy67/pseuds/landy67
Summary: Before the Marquis’ arrival to the Americas in 1777, agents for the French crown were in the colonies, relaying information to King Louis XVI and Vergennes directly. Four members: The handler, the deceiver, the courier, and the retriever. While the new head of Intelligence, Benjamin Tallmadge, clashes with the deceiver, Marie de la Grange, he and his courier find an ally with the silent French courier, Elijah Boucher.As the winters of Valley Forge begin to creep in, secrets are revealed that threaten to ruin every operation both the French and American intelligence is running. Tallmadge has to learn to work with de la Grange or the Culper ring is doomed forever.
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Best of Spies and Best of Women

_ Paris, 1766 _

Leather boots crashed into the puddles of brackish water that filled the Parisian streets. People paid no mind to the hurried footsteps or the men weaving through the crowd of people. 

“Arrête!” one of the men shouted. He lunged at the small girl sprinting through the streets but she easily evaded him and ducked into an alley and behind two crates. The men ran past the alley and the girl tilted her head back against the dirty stones, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Cold rain beat against her pale skin and soaked her woolen skirts and bare feet. Her boots had been stolen months earlier and her skirts and jumps were torn and practically falling apart.

But with trembling hands she lifted the pouch of sous to her chest in victory. The man would have never seen her snatch it if his friend hadn’t called out for her to stop. This many sous meant she might be able to afford fresh bread rather than the stuff Madame Beaufort tossed out of her bakery. In fact, she might be able to buy an old pair of shoes with these.

The girl stepped out of the alley and made her way closer to the Île de la Cité where many poor persons lived. It was safer to be away from the bourgeoise neighborhoods. Less chance of being imprisoned or sent to an orphanage. She would prefer a shorter death sentence of dying on the streets.

Gathering her skirts in one hand, the girl tucked the coins in the front of her jumps and stepped over some trash in the streets in hopes that she could go one night without cutting her feet on wood or glass. Monsieur Gavroche closed his shop in an hour, perhaps she could grab a fresh apple. Her emaciated figure trembled with the thought of food and she picked up her pace over the slick cobblestone bricks of the street.

Just as she turned the corner, a large hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back. The girl shrieked with fear and tried to pull away, but the grip was far too tight. She turned, seeing it was the man and his friend once more.

“J’suis désolé,” she cried. “Je suis désolé. J’ai faim. J’ai tellement faim.”

“Une enfant,” the man she robbed announced. “Une petite fille.”

“Je suis désolé,” she sobbed. “S’il vous plaît, laisse-moi partir!”

“Où sont tes parents?” his friend asked.

“Ils sont morts," she spat. “Laisse-moi partir.”

“Une enfant,” the man muttered. “Incroyable. Je n’ai rien vu venir. Comment t’appelles-tu, fille?”

“Marie,” she replied, sniffling. “J’ai des ennuis?”

“Non, Marie. Je m’appelle Pierre et je pense que tu pourras m'aider."

_ New York City, 1776 _

It felt strange to be on land again after so long at sea. Perhaps she had finally gained her sea legs and now she was going to lose them again as she stepped onto the dock. For a city under siege by the British, they seemed to be well-adjusted to the constant threat of war permeating their shores.

Her silk gown brushed along the tops of her shoes and she grimaced at the feel of her panniers bunching against her hips. For most of the journey, she entertained the practice of being out of formal wear and enjoyed the polonaise style but now it was time to fall back into her robe a l’anglais.

Two men joined her on the deck, flanking her on either side. The woman did not react and instead calmly reached up to adjust the brim of her hat. The man to her right cleared his throat and nodded towards the city.

“You both know your assignments. You both know how to send word of your findings,” he reminded them. “You have trained for this.”

“Relax, Pierre,” the man to her left scoffed. “We know our duty.”

“I’m not worried about you, Christophe,” Pierre growled.

“Well, I certainly hope you are not worried about me,” she drawled, a hint of an accent coating her words. “If you doubt me, you doubt yourself. You trained me afterall.”

“I fear it was not enough.”

“We know our roles. Elijah will pass messages over the lines easily. You focus on Washington, Christophe and I will handle this. And if all else fails, we know what we must do.”

The woman broke from their line and stepped forward, turning back to look at the two men with a smirk playing on her full lips. A dark coil of hair hung over her pale shoulder, delicately resting above the lace of her chemise and pale blue stomacher.

“Until we meet again, gentlemen, I shall eagerly await your correspondence. Until then, God save the King.”

She melted into the crowd under the hot July sun and easily found her first target, a man in a pressed red coat. With a well executed stumble, the woman fell to the ground in a dead faint.

“She’s good,” Christophe stated as British soldiers rushed to help the fallen woman.

“Marie is excellent,” Pierre sighed. “Always has been. Be blessed she is on our side because God save those against her.”


End file.
